


Christmas Oranges

by jat_sapphire



Category: The Professionals
Genre: Childhood Memories, Christmas, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-09
Updated: 2018-12-09
Packaged: 2019-09-15 04:09:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 624
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16926240
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jat_sapphire/pseuds/jat_sapphire
Summary: Ray watches Bodie eat.  I'm still thinking of Obbo 340 (Contrast), obviously.





	Christmas Oranges

**Author's Note:**

> I started a story for "Discovered on a Midnight Clear." Then I thought, that is probably not going to be finished in time. Then I wrote this. Then I thought, that has nothing at all to do with the prompt except the holiday. Then I wrote the Midnight Clear story, so that's all right, and why not post this one?

For most, I suppose, the smell of Christmas is a fir tree. Have nothing against 'em, me, but we usually didn't have one, what with the tiny flats we skinned out of, slipped into, scraped by in. When Father Christmas brings you nuts and a pocket square, when your pressie is socks and underpants, what d'you need a tree for? What'd we put on it?

But bless her, me ma must've saved, all year maybe, because the thing we had was an orange. Those postwar years, wasn't an easy thing to come by. Now you'll hear people say they didn't so much as see one. I don't think she missed one Christmas Day, though. If she did, maybe I didn't think there was a Christmas that year.

I remember taking it in my two hands and sniffing it, that edge in my nose, like— _moving_ like a corkscrew, up me nose literally, happy air. My hands smelled of it after, and I'd cup them over me face when I remembered, and every time it made me smile. We took the peel off careful, no wasting it, so the zest would come again on our cakes or chops. Special years when she had the sugar, she'd candy 'em. I peeled off all that white bit by bit, separated the sections, and when I was a young lad, I used to make a pattern on the plate, lay them all out before eating 'em. Never used a knife because I wanted to feel it, and if I got juice on my fingers, I licked it off. Ate each section by itself. The skin bursts, a little gush on the tongue and back into me throat, and I swear it tastes different at the front and the back, sharper at first and sweeter after.

So Bodie has a new name for me every year—Scrooge, Krampus, Grinch, Jack Skellington, Jack Frost (but he's the one who bites _my_ nose)—seems unfair to me. I realise they're not platinum, but there's a bowl of oranges in the kitchen this instant, and the whole flat smells like Christmas. I hand him one and he rolls his eyes because he's been talking about Swiss roll, but he won't turn it down.

Watching him eat's always a treat, really, though I grumble about it and the doctor's always after him. But I've never known anyone so _happy_ when he's eating. Wears his biggest smile, his eyes light up, and he makes a horrible mess with an orange, juice everywhere. Talking and chewing at the same time: “'s good, this, where they from, Spain? Oh, so sweet, Ray, have one.”

“I will,” I say because of course I will, but I want to see him lift half (he cuts them) in the air and squeeze it so the juice falls into his mouth, see him lick his own fingers and his lips, wipe his face and lick his fingers again, laughing, and that's my Christmas now. Even though we do have a tree, baubles and paper chains and all, have one every year. But for me it's the way he's eating that orange right now, so happy. Turns my heart over, if you want the truth, and that sideways glint through his lashes, and the way he knows I'm just waiting for him to put the peel down to jump him and taste the juice on his face and in his mouth. Last year he brought the orange in the bedroom and dribbled juice on me. I've got one in there right now, in fact. It's his turn to get sticky. Christmas sex, with citrus and come in the air, and that smile? If there's a better pressie … no, there just isn't.


End file.
